


Miles to Go Before I Sleep

by Aragarna



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2372858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragarna/pseuds/Aragarna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal goes missing, El goes to DC, Peter gets restless and Mozzie steps over the line. A post-season 5 story</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/profile)[**elrhiarhodan**](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/) for the beta work and advice, and a huge kudo to my artist [](http://eldorah.livejournal.com/profile)[**eldorah**](http://eldorah.livejournal.com/), who made a wonderful art to illustrate the story. [Go check her art here](http://eldorah.livejournal.com/8420.html)! Title is a quote from a poem by Robert Frost, _Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening_.

 

 

 

 

**Saturday**

 

**1:27 PM, Brooklyn.**

Peter and Elizabeth were cuddled against each other on top of the bed. Her head was resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around her.

“Are we really doing this?” Peter finally said, trying to keep the sadness of his voice at bay.

“I guess we are…”

“Are you mad at me?”

Elizabeth eased herself out of Peter’s hold and looking up, she smiled. “I’m not mad at you, hon. To be honest, I’m actually surprised it took you so long.”

“To turn the promotion down?”

“To realize a desk job just wasn’t you.”

Peter put a delicate kiss on Elizabeth’s forehead. “You’re smarter than I am.”

“Peter, even as the current ASAC, you’ve kept going to the field with your team. You’ve created a new position just for yourself, field-ASAC.”

Peter made an apologetic face. “I tried not to…”

“But you enjoy the field too much.”

“I can’t deny I like being on the field.”

“Look, Peter, when we first talked about the promotion, I encouraged you to take it, because after everything we went through, the accident, prison, I thought it would be a way to keep you safe. And I needed that. I needed to keep you safe. So, I was a little upset at first to see that being the ASAC didn’t keep you from the danger of the field. But if I’m being honest, I can see that this is what makes you happy.”

“I guess I needed it too,” Peter said in a low voice after a short silent. “I needed to get back on more solid ground, pull myself out of that mire I’d put myself in. Put it all behind me and go forward. It felt right at the time. Now it’s clear that it’s not the right thing for me.”

“Why not?”

Peter passed a hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t feel like I belong there, with all the big bosses. I’m not ready. I’m afraid of losing myself. I need to feel myself again.”

“Is that because of Dawson, and what Neal did?”

Peter shook his head vigorously. “It’s not because of Neal.”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “But it’s still because of Dawson.”

“It’s because of what I did. What I had to do.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, but Peter cut her off. “I don’t regret what I did, it was the only thing to do. For you, and for Neal. But I need to feel like I’m doing the right things again. I have principles. There are things I just can’t accept. Neal is right, he earned a reward, just as much as me. He deserved a promotion too.  And I can’t accept that I’m given all sort of perks because I’m an FBI agent, while he’s used as a simple asset because he’s a criminal. This is not right. We’re partners. We did the same job.”

“Have you told Bruce?”

“I haven’t called him back yet. I wanted to talk to you first.” Peter let go a heavy sigh. “He pushed hard to get me this position. “Why does it always feel like I’m letting someone down?”

“I’m sure he’ll understand. Sometimes you do what you have to do for yourself. What do _you_ want to do?”

“Get back to work, at White Collar. With Neal, and the team.”

“Good, so you do that.”

“But you?”

“Look, hon, this is what you want to do, this is fine. But all those plans for DC made me dream about it, and now I have this job at the National Gallery. I really want to do this. This is what _I_ want. We’ll make it work. DC is not that far. We can do this. This is right, for the both of us. We both get to do what we want. It’ll probably get a little difficult at the beginning, to find a new rhythm. But we’ll manage. And I’m not sure forcing you to take that desk job will make you happier. This is the right thing.”

Peter hugged his wife a little tighter. “So you’re not mad at me.”

She took his hands into hers and looked at him right in the eyes. “Your ethics can really be a pain, sometimes. And yet, for some reasons, I find your need to be a good man inexplicably attractive.”

Peter cupped El’s face into his hands, gazing lovingly at her.

“What?” She asked.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” he whispered. “You’re so wonderful. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Peter pulled her close and kissed her, his hands sliding from her neck to her chest and waist.El kissed him back but then gently pulled away.

“Hon, the moving van comes tomorrow morning. We’d better get going, we need to repack everything, see what you need to keep here, if you’re staying.”

Peter sighed, disappointed.

El chuckled. “Keep it for tonight.” She gave him a quick kiss and dragged him out of the bed.

They went down to the kitchen to sort the things Peter would need and those Elizabeth would take.

“It sure will be a challenge to remember how to use all this stuff,” Peter smirked as he pulled some unidentified object from a box. “I guess you can keep this?”

El laughed. “Come on, honey, that’s not the first time you’ll be on your own. How did you survive when I was in San Francisco?”

“I barely survived, that’s the thing.”

“I’m sure all the neighborhood takeaways will survive just fine, too.”

El winked and Peter made a face.

“Microwave?” Peter asked.

“Definitely you.”

“What about Satch?”

El looked up from the box she was rummaging in and her gaze met the one of the big yellow lab, who had raised his head and ears at the sound of his name. Being home more than Peter, she was the one who walked the dog the most. But she had the feeling that Peter would need the company more than she did.

“You should keep him,” she said.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. We can always see how it works for the both of us. Keep him here for now. Besides, you know how he is. He has his habits here.”

Peter’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he retrieved it quickly. His smile faded away when he saw the alert message. For a moment, he just starred at the red alert message, unable to react.

“Peter, what is it?” Elizabeth asked anxiously.

He startled. “Neal cut his anklet.”

Heart pounding heavily, Peter speed dialed Neal’s number. His blood was buzzing in his ears, echoing the ringing tone. The phone rang in the void for what looked like an eternity and finally went to voicemail.

“Neal! What did you do? Pick up the phone!” His voice was rigged with panic.

Not knowing what else to say, Peter hanged up. Hand shaking, chest burning, he looked up at Elizabeth, showing an unreadable face.

 

**1:57 PM, Brooklyn.**

“Your boy Caffrey ran. _Again_.” Marshal Ryan shouted rather angrily over the phone.

“There is an explanation,” Peter retorted, automatically on the defensive. _There had to be._

“Which is?” The Marshal’s tone was betraying his impatience. They’ve been there before, too many times, and he was clearly tired of these conversations.

“I don’t know. Yet,” Peter admitted.

“Do you know where he is?”

“I can’t reach him.”

“Neither can we.”

“Look, I’ll figure this out.”

“You’d better. Meanwhile, I’m still filling a report.” The tone was definitive, and the Marshal hung up without giving Peter any chance to argue.

He slid down the phone in his pocket, and rushed to his laptop on the dining table. Feverishly, he opened it, started the tracking program, typed in Neal’s ID, and loaded the history of his last movements. It appeared that after leaving Brooklyn, Neal had gone to one of his favorite parks in Manhattan, along the East River. He seemed to have been wandering around there for a while, until the signal suddenly disappeared.

Peter kept staring at the screen, as if waiting for the little red dot to reappear. It didn’t.

“Maybe it’s a malfunction…” Elizabeth said tentatively as she came close to watch at the computer over Peter’s shoulder.

“Maybe,” Peter repeated in a hollow voice, unconvinced.

“You think he ran?”

Peter detached his eyes from the screen and slowly turned to face El. As he couldn’t ignore anymore that thought he had refused to formulate, he felt his soul split in two. His gut was telling him it was the most likely explanation while his heart was denying Neal would do that.

“I… What else… He wouldn’t… I don’t know. He’s been so edgy the past few months. So many things have been weighting down on him. His father, Hagen, Rachel.” _Me._ “I think he had enough.”

Defeated, Peter buried his head in his hands. All the blood had drained from his face. His heart was pounding hard against his tighten chest. It felt like he was crashing down and would explode any moment. But he wasn’t sure if it should be from anger or panic.

 

“But, hon, Neal didn’t want to run.”

“I know, but…” Peter felt all miserable. There was a time where he was sure Neal wouldn’t run. It was an unspoken promise he wouldn’t break. There was a time where Neal had said he’d come to work on Monday morning, whether he’d be off anklet or not. But this was a long time ago, a time where things were simpler, easier, between them. Now Neal had asked him to terminate his sentence sooner, and even as he backed him up, Peter couldn’t ignore that nagging feeling that Neal was asking for an out. Neal didn’t want to work with him anymore, and Peter couldn’t help but think it was his fault. Still, was Neal that upset that he would run?

“If not, then what happened?” Peter said finally in a small voice.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Think. No was not the time for regrets and self pity. He had to find Neal, figure things out. Then he’ll try to understand. More focused, he said in a more asserted voice “We need to call Mozzie.”

Elizabeth took her phone out and dialed Mozzie’s number.

“Moz, this is El. Neal cut his anklet, Peter’s worried. Call him back. It’s urgent,” she said to the voicemail. Then glancing at Peter, “June?” she suggested.

Peter called Neal’s landlady. Unfortunately, she had not seen him. No, she didn’t notice anything special in his behavior. And no, he hadn’t told her anything about his plans for today.

Peter hung up. It was time to act. He stood up and reached for his jacket. “I need to go…”

Elizabeth just nodded. “Keep me updated,” she said simply.

Peter kissed her quickly and he was gone.

 

**3:15 PM, Manhattan.**

The conference room was packed. Marshal Ryan was pacing back and forth in front of the monitor. Peter had let him lead the meeting, start the chase, and was standing at the back of the room. Leaning against the glass frame, he had his arms crossed on his chest. He just couldn’t do it. His heart wasn’t at it. It was lying, heavy, in his chest. He was barely listening to Ryan’s briefing. Not that he really needed to. He knew everything there had to know about Neal Caffrey. And then some.

“We should focus our priority on small regional airports.” Ryan was stating. “This seems to be Caffrey’s favorite escape route.”

Peter winced. He rubbed his eyes to chase the image of Neal on the tarmac on a cold afternoon, turning around, tears running down his cheeks, calling his name. _Peter_. Before everything went to hell.

That was the only time Neal really meant to run. One time, a long time ago. A time when he’d do anything for Kate. Ever since then, Peter had thought Neal was done running. Of course, there had been Cape Verde. But Neal only ran because Peter told him to. Except no one knew that. It had looked like Neal had run on his own. For no reason. Of course, Philip Kramer never admitted his intention to screw the commutation hearing, so it had looked like Neal had stupidly shot himself in the foot. And now it was compromising any chance of an early release, no matter how good his work for the bureau has been. And this was all Peter’s fault, though he couldn’t simply tell them that. It would probably only make things worse, for both of them. The handler encouraging his CI to run, what a pair they made…

Diana gently elbowed his ribs, calling Peter back to the present and he focused his attention back to the conference room, he realized all eyes were staring at him.

“Burke, you with us?” Ryan asked irritably. “Any idea where Caffrey would go?”

Peter shook his head.

“What if he didn’t run?” he suddenly said.

Ryan stared at Peter, eyebrows rising and rolled his eyes.

As he didn’t seem to have anything to answer, Peter pressed on, getting more and more agitated as his own words sank in.

“What if something happened? An accident, a kidnapping… “Maybe he was attacked?”

“Burke, you can’t be serious.”

“We need to get in touch with Kidnapping and Missing Persons, ASAP,” Peter stated, straightening himself up. He was taking back the command.

“This is a waste of time,” Ryan protested.

“If something happened to Neal, focusing on his MO won’t get us anywhere. _This_ is a waste of time,” Peter said pointing at the flat screen displaying Neal’s list of aliases and past wanted posters. He stormed out of the conference room, ignoring Ryan’s protests.

 

**5:34 PM, New Wednesday.**

“This is Burke.”

“Neal didn’t run!”

“Mozzie? Hang on.”

There were some muffled sounds, the Suit’s voice inaudible in the distance talking to someone else, a door being opened, another one being shut, and Peter came back online.

“Moz?”

“Suit! Neal didn’t run!” Mozzie shouted again.

“What do you mean? Do you know where he is?”

“No! Do you?”

“No, we haven’t been able to locate him.”

“Oh God…” This wasn’t good. Walking circles in the living room of his safe house, Mozzie tried to ignore the growing feeling of panic.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Peter asked.

“About three hours ago.”

“Where?” There was something grounding in Peter’s commanding tone – not that Mozzie would ever admit taking command from a government representative.

“Riverside Park, next to June’s.”

“Did you notice anything unusual in his attitude?”

“He was pretty upset about being refused his freedom! After everything he’s done for you, how can you let them treat him like – like a tool. Like a property! This is slavery! ” Mozzie yelled.

“Moz! Please…”

Peter’s voice wagered. Something in his tone made Mozzie stop short. There was a short silent. Peter breathed heavily.

“Did he say anything about wanting to run?” He asked in a low voice.

Would Neal run? Their last conversation seemed to indicate he wanted to. Mozzie had promised to work on cracking the new anklet. Neal had given him a week. So why would he run now? This didn’t make sense. Neal wouldn’t have run. Not without him. Or would he? Mozzie felt a cold drop of sweat running down his spine. Would Neal run without him?

“Mozzie? Do you know anything?” The Suit’s voice had suddenly turned suspicious.

“No. I know nothing,” Mozzie rushed.

“How do you know he didn’t run?”

“Because…” Mozzie started. He had to choose his words carefully. “It wouldn’t make sense.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t tell you.” The conversation was getting quite slippery.

“What were you up to?” Now this was turning into an interrogation, and the Suit didn’t seem pleased. Nor was Mozzie.

“Nothing!”

“So you’re saying Neal wouldn’t have run because you were working on something?”

“I’m not saying anything!” Mozzie protested.

“I can’t believe it. You two will never stop.”

Mozzie couldn’t believe it either. How come the Suit always guessed everything? On the other side of the line, he heard Peter heaved a frustrated sigh.

“Is there anything you could share to help us find Neal? You might be the last person who saw him.”

“Who is ‘us’?” Mozzie asked, suspicious.

“The FBI, Mozzie. His colleagues and _friends_.” Peter sighed, sounding suddenly uncertain. “All I want is to find him.”

“I’m sorry, Suit. I don’t know. I left him at the park. But I’ll ask around, see if anyone has heard from him.”

“Good, thanks Moz’.”

Mozzie hung up. Neal had disappeared. This wasn’t good. No good at all. Was it possible that he wouldn’t wait for his friend to crack the anklet and decided it was just as easy to cut it? But Neal always relied on Mozzie for escape plans. Or did he? Could it be possible that Neal had a secret exit strategy all set?  That he wouldn’t share with Mozzie?

He shook his head. It wasn’t likely, it wasn’t making any sense. There had to be another explanation. If Neal didn’t run, then what? What were the facts? Neal had cut his anklet – no, the anklet appeared to be cut, or malfunctioning. And Neal was out of reach. Mozzie had tried all of Neal’s known numbers. All had gone to voicemail.

Neal had gone off grid. Was he hiding? Was he in danger, then? Hurt? Or was he taken? Neal was a valuable asset and an unmatched opponent, good enough to create an infinite number of jealous enemies. Neal attracted rivals, enemies, even possessive girlfriends, like a magnet. And from all sides, thieves and government seemed equally interested in not letting him live his life like he intended to.

It was time to act, definitely not the time to panic. There was little doubt that whatever happened, Neal was in danger. Mozzie grabbed his jacket and his shoulder bag and headed out.

 

**8:00 PM, Manhattan.**

The conference room had once again become their headquarters. All available personal of the White Collar division had been relocated there. This time, ASAC Peter Burke was conducting the briefing.

“We’re coordinating with Kidnapping and Missing Persons. Agent Rice has kindly lent us three agents to scavenge the area where Neal was last seen. They’re looking for any clues, signs of struggles, and possible witnesses. They are also looking for Neal’s anklet. We’ve received surveillance tapes from all the cameras in the area. There were none in the park itself but all the surrounding streets are covered. The good news is, we know exactly where and when Neal’s anklet was cut. The bad news is, it was in the park, so we have no images of what happened.”

Jones raised a hand. “What about the Marshals?”

“They still believe Neal ran.”

“But you don’t.” That was Diana.

Peter looked at her intensely. “I have reasons not to.”

“The little guy?” Jones asked.

Peter nodded slightly. “Anyway, someone has to consider other angles. We let the Marshals do their jobs, and we cooperate. We don’t protest, we don’t make waves, and we try to keep in touch with their investigation. But in the meantime, we look for Neal on our own. You’ve been all given footage to go through. Look for any suspicious person and vehicle avoiding cameras, being stationary, disappearing in blind spots. In particular, if you catch sight of Neal, look for anyone that might be tailing him. I’ve let Missing Persons know that we had been quite successful in the past commandeering tourist cameras to collect more images. Get to work, everyone, every minute counts.”

Jones shared a meaningful look with Diana. This was not the first time Neal ran – or disappeared. But there was an urgency in Peter’s voice telling them it wasn’t like the last time, when Neal had run to Cape Verde. That one time, they had always suspected Peter of being better informed on what had happened than he had let on. But not today. Today was different. Today, Peter was ready to launch the entire cavalry looking after his CI.

Things had been quite rocky these past months between Peter and Neal. It had seemed at some point that Peter had had enough of Neal. Not that Jones could blame him. Yet his boss seemed to have an infinite reserve of second chances when it came to his CI, and it hadn’t been long until he saw them patching things up, like they always did. No matter their differences, no matter the bumps on the road, Peter and Neal seemed to share a unique bond.

For his boss’s sanity, Jones hoped Caffrey indeed didn’t run. This would be the ultimate betrayal, and he was afraid that Peter would just break. He didn’t want to have to collect the piece of Peter’s shattered heart.

 

 

 

**Sunday**

  
**2:59 AM, Manhattan.**

The digital clock at the bottom of her laptop’s screen changed from 2:59 to 3:00. Diana paused the video and decided it was time for a coffee refill. They had been watching video footage for hours. Her eyes were burning from too much screen time and she was feeling like her head was going to explode. She rubbed her eyes and got up.

Peter was looking pensively at the coffee machine, his mug sitting empty below the tap.

“Hey boss, you need help with the coffee machine?”

Peter startled and quickly pushed the fill button. “Hmm, no, sorry.”

“What’s the matter? “

Peter turned to face Diana but his look drifted away and she didn’t catch his eyes. “Everything is wrong.” Peter looked down at his phone he was holding, and he suddenly crashed on a chair. “Elizabeth just called. She asked me when I’d be home.”

Earlier, Peter had taken Diana and Jones aside in his office to tell them he wasn’t going to DC. Apparently the higher-ups had refused to commute Neal’s sentence and Peter had taken a stand against them. Diana had smiled. _Only Peter_. It was probably career suicide, but she suspected it was the last of her boss’ concerns.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, was another matter. According to Peter, she was okay with his choice, though Peter seemed to still feel guilty and worried. But Neal’s disappearance hadn’t given him much of a chance to think this through with a calm head.

“When is she leaving?” Diana asked.

“Tommo - ” Peter looked at his watch. “Well, _this_ morning now. The moving van should be there in five hours.”

“Can’t you guys postpone?”

Peter shook his head. “El starts tomorrow at the National Gallery. This job is important for her.”

“Then go.”

“What?”

“Go to DC with you wife. Help her settle at least.”

Peter looked shocked. “But I can’t! Neal needs me here. Every minute counts.”

Diana reached out to put a hand on his arm. “And your wife needs you, too. Look Peter,” she said with a gesture encompassing the bullpen and conference room. “You’ve got the whole team here looking for Caffrey. Good agents. We know the drill. We can do without you for a few hours.”

Peter followed her movement toward the unusually busy office at such a time of the night. For every agent, in particular those who had had the opportunity to work with Caffrey, the annoyance of being called on such short notice on a Saturday afternoon had quickly been replaced by real concern for the Bureau’s most famous CI. It was three AM, and the entire team was actively looking for Neal, just as they would for any other member of the division.

Diana caught glimpse of a stirred frown on Peter’s face as his gaze lingered on all the people hard at work.

“Go home, Peter. We’ve got this.”

 

**2:30 PM, Washington DC.**

“I believe that was the last one,” El breathed as she put a large box on the floor and let herself fall on the couch. She was exhausted.

Peter’s head appeared at the door of the kitchen. He shot her a smile. “Who would have thought one person could fill so many cases and boxes? How are you going to fit it all in? Maybe we should have picked a bigger apartment,” he smirked as he leaned on the doorframe.

“Why don’t you make me some coffee with that brand new espresso machine?” Elizabeth said, ignoring the mockery.

Peter disappeared again in the kitchen.

“I fixed the sink in the kitchen and I checked the electricity and the heater. It’s all good,” he shouted as a lovely smell of fresh coffee started to fill the apartment.

Elizabeth leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes, letting her new home sinking in; the odors, the noise, the light, the space. She heard Peter’s steps coming closer. Same familiar rhythm, different resonance on the floor. But nothing will ever change the hint of deep love and care that she could detect in his voice whenever he talked to her, even to say the most trivial things.

“There you go, hon. Be careful, it’s hot.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes and took the cup of coffee Peter was holding in front of her. He smiled and joined her on the sofa, sliding an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him and rested her hand on his thigh.

“Thank you for coming with me today, hon.”

With his free hand he brushed the top of hers. “I’m so proud of you, you know, working at the National Gallery.”

“It’s just a small position in Finance and Planning department,” El corrected.

“Still, this is one of the most important museums in the country. Heck, in the entire world.”

“I’m so stressed for tomorrow!”

“You’re going to be great.”

“I haven’t been so stressed in years. It’s like I’m fresh out of college, looking for my first real job.”

“And we’re going to commute every weekend to see each other, just like college kids,” Peter said with a smile.

He squeezed her against him and put a gentle kiss on her forehead. His phone buzzed in his pocket, putting an end to their intimate cuddling moment. The considerate husband gave way to the tenacious FBI Agent as he took his phone out. Looking over Peter’s shoulder, El read the text sent by Diana _. Lead on an undescript van. Lost the trail in New Jersey. Rice coordinating with local PD._

Elizabeth felt a shiver running through Peter’s body.

“That’s good news, right? You’ve got a lead,” she said, trying to sound positive.

“Yes, it’s something.” Peter sighed. “Also, if it’s confirmed, it’s looking more and more like a kidnapping,” he said bleakly.

“You’ll find him, hon.”

“Hopefully in time…” Peter said in a small voice. “I’m so worried about him, El. I’m starting to wish he’d run…”

“Don’t be silly.”

“If they’ve hurt him…”

“You’ll kick their ass.”

A sad smile brushed Peter’s lips. He got up, offering a hand to El. She followed him to the door.

“Thank you for being there.” Elizabeth hugged her husband tight. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. “I love you,” she whispered.

“You call me tomorrow,” he said softly. I want a full report on your first day.”

They remained embraced a moment, both reluctant to let go. Finally Peter stepped back and opened the door.

“You call me too, if you have any news about Neal...” Elizabeth paused before adding: “Anything.”

Peter nodded, kissed her one last time and disappeared, again.

Elizabeth felt suddenly terribly alone. Alone and helpless. She prayed with all her heart that they would find Neal. Unharmed. Alive.

 

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/mzaBhyT.png)

 

 

**3:12 PM, one dark basement.**

Neal woke up with a sore head and disoriented. It took him several minutes to make up his surroundings – a dark and unfamiliar room – and remember what had happened. He had been kidnapped. The words of the man with the boots came back to him: _The last person on Earth to know where you are_. Neal shivered. Making efforts to gather his memories, Neal remembered two people – probably men, given the strength – grabbing him. A dark hood had been thrown on his head. He’d been thrown in the back of a van. After that, nothing. He couldn’t recall the drive, not how he got into this room.

Neal sat up. He had no idea where he was. Or how long had he been here, though he could probably get a rough estimate of it. He felt angry, but not desperately so. He stood up carefully, and the initial dizziness caused by the brisk change of position faded fairly quickly. He was pretty thirsty however, and his mouth was dry. But lying unconscious on a dirty floor would probably do that. All in all, he wasn’t in such a bad condition physically. It couldn’t have been much more than a day.

Neal felt a lump in his throat at the thought that he had been missing for at least twenty-four hours. People were probably looking for him. Peter was, certainly. His heart clenched. Peter would probably thought he’d run. He would be so hurt. Just when things were finally getting back to normal between them… Peter wouldn’t even have a chance to sit at his cushy desk that he had to run after Neal again… How come he was ruining everything all the time for his friend? Even when he didn’t mean to?

Neal shook himself up. He would find a way to make it up for Peter later, explain he didn’t run, never meant to. First he had to get out here.

Neal looked around. The room he was in was dark and he could barely make his surroundings. Not that there was much to see. The room was empty, except for what looked like an old shaggy mattress in a corner. There was no window and the walls were all made of plain concrete. The floor was made of concrete as well. Only a very faint light was coming from under the door. It was quite a solid door, one that would be hard to break open. It was also reinforced by two bolds in addition of the regular lock. Not unpickable with the proper tools. Neal checked his pockets. Everything was gone, of course. Lockpick set, phone, even tissues. They had also taken his belt, tie clip, cufflinks and shoes. Escaping was going to be a challenge.

“Hello? Anyone here?” He screamed.

Neal banged on the door, hoping to be heard. Then, pressing his ear against the door, he listened for any noise. He didn’t hear anything but a deafening silent. He couldn’t even hear the usually muffled constant noise of the city. Sighing, Neal approached the mattress. He sat down, not without darting a look of disgust at it, and waited. If they had bothered checking his pockets and giving him a – sort of – bed, they probably meant to keep him alive. Someone would eventually come. Or so he hoped.

Passing his hand through his hair, Neal was stopped in the middle of his movement by something odd. His hair felt unfamiliar under his palm. Next to his right temple, it felt strangely short. Examining it carefully with his fingers, Neal had to face the evidence: someone had crudely cut a lock of hair off his head!

Why would someone want his hair? Plant his DNA on a crime scene as blackmail? Was someone messing up with him, wanted him arrested and sent back to prison. Was the kidnapping part of a bigger scheme, to make the FBI believe he ran and went back to his life of crime?

Neal felt a rush of blood running through his veins. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Peter believe he had betrayed him. Images of his friend, angry, hurt, looking away from him, came floating around in the darkness, haunting. _Shame on me for expecting anything else_.

Neal took his head in his hands, summoning better memories: Peter smiling fondly at him with that hint of pride in his eyes that Neal couldn’t help but look for _. I’m proud of you, you know_. Except it had been all based on a lie. Neal chased the image. It was too painful. _On one condition, you visit me and El in Washington, a lot_. This time it hadn’t been a lie. All truths had come out and yet Peter had still pleaded in his favor to his friend, Bruce. Neal closed his eyes. He could see Peter’s face, barely able to contain his emotion, happy to make him happy. Neal could almost feel the firm handshake in his fingers, the strong arms wrapping around him, like a warm hug to his heart.

Despite everything, Peter still loved him. Enough to set him free.

 

 

 

 

**Monday**

 

**10:05 AM, same dark basement.**

They finally came. Or rather, one big thug came, bringing Neal a plain sandwich and a bottle of water – with no cap. He was so big even Peter would have looked tiny next to him. There was no way Neal could force his way out against this guy.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

The big guy had looked at him like an annoying little spider. “Eat,” he had said pointing a finger at Neal’s food.

He came back half an hour later and escorted Neal to the bathroom, offering him the opportunity to study the place. They had climbed a flight of stairs, which confirmed Neal’s suspicion that his holding cell was in the basement, and after passing a second door, followed down a corridor. They had passed by three closed doors before stopping in front of the bathroom. Big Guy had shoved Neal inside and stood just outside, meaningfully leaving the door wide open.

Neal had tried to gather as much information as he could. Unfortunately, neither the corridor nor the bathroom offered any window and Neal didn’t get view of the outside, or any clues of where he could be. Big Guy had taken him there twice, after serving him his rations. It wasn’t much, but that trip to the bathroom was still his best option for an escape.

Left alone, Neal sat down on his mattress. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He thought about Peter. His friend had to be looking for him. Even as a Section Chief, he wouldn’t let that task to anyone else, would he? Neal hoped Peter had more leads on where he was than he had himself.

 

**1:30 PM, Manhattan.**

“Anything on that van?”

“A burned-out van was found this morning in a remote area of New Jersey,” Rice reported. “It could fit our missing van. But it was pretty well consumed by the fire. Nothing useful could be recovered.”

Peter sighed in frustration and kicked the back of a nearby chair with his closed fist. Nothing on the van, nothing from the kidnappers, nothing from Neal. Nothing.

“Okay, that’s all then. Get back to work, everybody.”

He let everyone leave the room and caught Agent Rice aside. “Thank you, Kimberly, for your help.”

Rice smiled. “I still owed you and Caffrey a big one. Besides, you’d do the same for me if one of my agents was missing.”

Peter’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Neal isn’t an agent.”

“But he’s just as valuable. I’ve heard a lot about you two since we’ve worked together. You make a damn good team. Aren’t you promised to DC sometime soon?”

Peter shook his head gloomily. “I turned it down.”

Rice raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He didn’t really want to talk about it. “I’ll tell Neal you said he’s as valuable as an agent,” he deflected. “He’ll be pleased.”

“Oh no, please don’t. He’d be impossible…”

“He usually is anyway.”

 

**8:00 PM, Brooklyn.**

Mozzie was pacing back and forth in the Burkes’ living room. From the sofa, Peter was watching him with increasing annoyance.

“Mozzie, seat down, you’re making me sea sick,” he groaned. But the little guy didn’t seem inclined to listen. He was on a roll.

“I’ve even had to talk to that douche of Marni Paws. Marni Paws! The guy couldn’t even slip his handcuffs if he had the keys.”

In other circumstances, Peter would have actually been delighted to hear Mozzie spill so many beans about his underground activities and contacts.

“You have to understand, Suit, that kidnappers are not my usual company. We’re not that kind of crude criminals.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re not above putting a price on someone’s head. Or so, I’ve heard.”

Mozzie stopped dead and turned to Peter, shooting him a dark look from narrowed eyes.

“Keller had killed Hale,” he said between his teeth.

Peter tilted his head. He still wasn’t convinced Mozzie was truly above drastic actions, but now wasn’t time to argue. He raised his hands in sign of peace.

“Fine, sorry. Did you find anything useful?”

“Nothing! I’ve been asking around. It’s not easy, I have to be careful not to ring the wrong alarm. I’m still looking. I’ve put my homeless network on it.”

“Homeless network?” Peter repeated, baffled.

“Manhattan’s best unauthorized surveillance system. Invisible and omniscient. I’ve heard _things_ …”

Peter felt a pit in his stomach at the idea that there were so many _things_ going on in the criminal world at that very moment.

“So far, nothing that seems linked to Neal or even potential jobs where he’d be needed,” Mozzie went on. “But the list is long, I have just been through the most obvious targets for now.”

“Has he really that many enemies?” Peter asked, alarmed.

Mozzie stood in front of Peter, crossing his arms and looking at him from above. “We live a dangerous line of work, Suit. Neal even more so since you’ve turned him into a snitch.”

Peter pinched his nose but kept quiet.

 

**10:00 PM, Washington DC.**

Elizabeth slipped into her night gown, settled in her bed and opened her laptop.

“Hey hon.”

“Hey hon. Can you see me?”

“I see your chest just fine. Not that I complain…”

Peter pushed his laptop’s screen to fix the angle of the camera. “Better?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Oh there you are. It’s good to see you.”

“You too. I miss you.”

“You look exhausted, Peter. Any news from Neal?”

Peter shook his head. “Nothing.”

“How is the investigation going?”

“Not fast enough. We’ve been looking at surveillance videos all day. We’ve been tracking a van that was spotted at the park where Neal disappeared and later in New Jersey. But it didn’t lead us very far.”

“Don’t forget to get some rest every once in a while, hon.”

Peter passed a tired hand over his face. “I try.”

Elizabeth bent forward to get closer to the screen, looking closely at her husband. “Are you having troubles sleeping?”

Peter looked down. He seemed to hesitate for a fraction of second. “I am,” he finally admitted in a small voice.

Elizabeth was pondering if she should press further on the matter, but Peter didn’t seem incline to elaborate.

“Enough about me,” he said after clearing his throat. “How was your first day?”

Elizabeth lit up as the memory of her first day brought back all its excitement. “Oh it was amazing! Just to get to go to work there, it’s magic. This majestic building, full of history… Well, okay, my office is just a tiny, dusty old office, with air blowing under the antediluvian window, but it’s the _National Gallery_ , on the _National Mall_. I didn’t do much actual work. It was mainly filling the paperwork and meeting my new colleagues, everyone from the Collection Department. It’s huge! You should see it. And the amount of paintings they keep stored!”

Peter smiled, looking at her with found eyes as Elizabeth went on.

“You know, that’s a shame that no one is to see those pieces. Some of them are true masterpieces. There was that one small Picasso that would be perfect for my living-room.”

“And I happen to know just the right guy to get it discreetly for you.”

The sudden mention of their missing friend broke the spell. Elizabeth saw Peter’s face darken. Her heart sank in her chest. All her worries came back to the surface, and seeing her husband visibly miserable made her wish she could at least be there for him. Peter needed her, and she was two hundred miles away.

Peter’s phone buzzed on the table. He looked at it and looked apologetically at Elizabeth. “I’ve got to take this, hon, it’s work. I’ll call you back tomorrow. It was good talking to you.”

“For me too. I love you, hon.”

“I love you too.”

Peter shut down the communication. Elizabeth remained a moment staring at the black screen. She was worried about Neal, worried about Peter and it was making her feel even more isolated. She slowly closed her laptop and put it away. She lied down in the bed and buried herself under the cover, trying to gather heat. She was struggling at night to get the bed warm with her own body the only source of heat.

She, too, would have once again a hard time falling asleep tonight, and it wouldn’t be due to the stress of her new job.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Tuesday**

 

**7:00 AM, Manhattan.**

Peter retrieved his mail from the incoming mail box and headed to his office. He put down his cup on his desk and checked quickly if there was anything urgent enough that it couldn’t wait for Neal to be found. One letter caught his attention. It was a simple white letter, classical 4x6 format. Posted from Manhattan. His name and office address were handwritten – most probably a man’s  handwriting – and there was no return address, no heading. Nothing that could possible identify the sender. Intrigued, Peter cautiously opened the envelope and looked inside.

His heart stopped and Peter crashed on his chair, suddenly pale as a sheet. Inside the envelope was a single lock of hair. Peter would recognize its curl and shade anywhere. There was no doubt possible. It was Neal’s.

He’ll have to send it to the lab, have them run a DNA test on the hair to confirm the identity. The image of Neal’s hair being manipulated by some CSI made Peter felt nauseous.

An icy drop of sweat ran down his spine and his heart picked up again, racing to catch up its rhythm. Someone was holding Neal. Someone had cut his hair to send Peter a message. _Someone_ was playing with them.

Peter looked into the envelope. It wasn’t containing anything else. Just Neal’s hair. With an unsteady hand, he reached for his desk phone. Forensics would look for clues. Prints, DNA. Peter’s gut was telling him they wouldn’t find anything, but you never know. It wouldn’t be the first time over confident criminals would slip.

 

**11:30 AM, a coffee shop at Federal Plaza.**

Peter entered the coffee shop and immediately spotted Mozzie. He was in the farthest corner from the door, wearing a long raincoat with the collar up, hiding part of his face, and… a wig?

“Nice hair,” Peter greeted him as he sat next to him at the table.

“Meeting you so close to Federal Plaza makes me nervous.”

“I bet.” Peter couldn’t help being amused by his odd friend’s paranoia.

“So why did you ask me to meet you here?”

“I’ve been thinking…” And Peter himself wasn’t so sure he wasn’t crazy to suggest such a plan. “I’ve set a team of agents reviewing Neal’s case files. We’re trying to see if there wouldn’t be someone out there, freshly released from prison, or with connections, that might be looking for some payback.”

“Seems reasonable to me.”

“The problem is, we’re lacking a perspective from the criminal side. There are tons of potential criminals that could be going after Neal. So I thought, maybe you could review the files with us, see if you could find any links to _things_ you hear about, any particular name that stands out.”

“You want me to actually work with you.”

“It’s for Neal.”

“I’d be like your new CI.”

“Just while I’m looking for my real CI. I have no intention of replacing Neal. And especially not with you.”

That seemed to reassure Mozzie a little, so Peter pushed his last argument. “And that means I’d have to let you read all those files…”

Mozzie’s eyes sparkled. Peter smiled.

“Eight o’clock. My place.”

 

**4:30 PM, the basement.**

Neal was restless. He couldn’t stop his mind for making escape plans. It was a reflex action. Now that his eyes had adjusted better to the darkness, they kept scanning the floor, the walls, even the ceiling. As he walked around his cell, his fingers were inspecting every square inch of it, looking for anything that could be used as a tool, or a weapon. His whole body was tensed toward one goal: getting out of here.

For the hundredth time, he stopped in front of the door, his fingers brushing the locks. If only he had anything sharp. But all he had were his clothes – too soft, useless – and an old mattress. His tender ribs were telling him there were some solid springs in there. He could try and rip the old thing apart, but that would take him some time.

His best shot was still to wait for Big Guy to come back.

 

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/0b1CtjC.png)

 

 

**07:15 PM, Riverside**

After work, Peter decided to make a detour by Neal’s apartment. Of course, the Marshals had already conducted their own search – and their report indicated they didn’t find anything useful. But maybe Peter would be luckier. Maybe he would be able to find some clues that Neal had been up to something, a sign that only Peter could catch. He wasn’t actually sure exactly what he’d look for, but he had to try. He couldn’t neglect any chance to catch a lead.

June opened the door herself.

“Peter,” she said simply.

Embarrassed, Peter shot her a shy smile as he fidgeted with whatever was inside his pants’ pockets.

“Hi,” he said.

By the landlady’s sorrow easily readable in her eyes, he didn’t have to ask if she had by any chance heard from Neal. She obviously hadn’t.

“Do you mind if I go upstairs?”

“The Marshals have already wracked the place.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You know he wouldn’t run,” she said, and Peter heard the reproach in her cold tone. He wondered if that was coming only from the Marshals’ raid or if Neal had talked to her about their recent argument.

“I know,” he said softly, as much to reassure her of his good intention as to convince himself.

“Please bring our boy back.”

Peter nodded, the lump in his throat too sore to allow him to talk. Everyone was counting on him, as if he was a sort of guardian angel to Neal. As he walked back to his car he felt the responsibility weight on his shoulder. But he wouldn’t let them down.

 

**11:30 PM, Brooklyn.**

Mozzie regretted not bringing his own wine. The Suit had offered him a beer, apologizing for not being a better host, but he wasn’t used to have Mozzie around so much and he obviously had no time to waste in wine shopping. The beer itself wasn’t bad – for a beer. But beer simply didn’t have the same power of brain cell cleaning and stimulation wine had. At least on Mozzie’s brain.

They were at the dining table in Peter’s house, going through piles and piles of case files. All of Neal and Peter’s case reports since they had partnered. Mozzie had to admit it was an impressive case load. The two of them had taken off the street quite a number of criminals. He wasn’t sure if he should be terrified at the idea, or pleased to be rid of the competition.

What an odd situation. If four years ago someone had told Mozzie he would team up with a fed, to help out on his investigation, be invited to his home to go through case files, he wouldn’t have believed it for a second.  Not a fed! And yet, here they were. Working side by side in rescuing their common friend, Peter trusting Mozzie with actual real case reports, in Neal’s name.

Mozzie shook himself and focused back on the files.

“You okay, Moz’? Peter asked, looking up from his own pile of files.

“Yes, I’m good. Just, it’s been a long day.”

Peter rubbed his face with his hand. “We can call it a day, start again tomorrow.”

Looking at the Suit, Mozzie noticed his tired eyes. He was just as exhausted as Mozzie. The conman had no doubt Peter’s day had been as busy as his, as were the days before. And from the look of it, he didn’t seem to get much more sleep.

“I can go through a few more files. But if you’re tired, I can take some files home…”

“Nice try, Moz, but no. Those files don’t leave the house,” Peter smirked. “And don’t make me search you.”

Mozzie shrugged. He had to try.

“Let’s call it a day, then. You look like you could use a few hours of sleep.”

Peter smiled sadly. “It’s not that easy.”

“yeah.”

They look at each other. They knew they wouldn’t sleep much that night. But they had to try. Reload their batteries a little, so that they could face another day of search tomorrow.

“You think he’s okay?”

 “Neal is resourceful, Suit. I’m sure he’s fine.” Mozzie wished he could believe his own words.

 

 

**Wednesday**

  
**01:30pm, the basement.**

 

Neal dragged himself to the mattress and collapsed on it. His ribs hurt, his skull hurt, his whole body was a ball of pain. He had to admit that this escape attempt didn’t lead him very far. He still had managed to kick one of the corridor doors opened and get a glimpse of the room behind it before his guardian grabbed him and dragged him back to his cell.

Then, blows had showered down on him. It was precise, professional. His captor knew exactly where to hit and the right strength to apply. He stopped right on time too, leaving Neal panting and hurting.

This was bad. Big guy would be more careful from now on. At least, Neal knew now that the building was residential. The room he saw had a window. This was a way out – If he could ever get past the three doors and the thug standing in the way.

Interestingly enough, though someone seemed determined to keep him alive – at least for now – Neal hadn’t seen anyone. He hadn’t met his kidnapper. He hadn’t been asked anything, neither job or information. Which could only mean one thing. He was a barging chip. Whoever had kidnapped him weren’t after him, but after someone he was close to. Mozzie? Peter? Someone from his past?

His _criminal_ past…

Neal sighed. Sometimes it seemed he would never be able to escape it. No matter how hard he tried, it was always coming back to haunt him. There were always circumstances to drag him back in.

He was getting tired of being a criminal. It had brought him many more downs than ups lately. He’d been the toy of a sociopathic lover. Rebecca, Rachel. He had thought she was his chance to start things right. He had opened his heart to her like he rarely had in the past. And she had taken it, and squashed it. Rachel, like everyone in his life only saw his criminal potential. It used to be his gift, it was becoming his curse.

Even the one person who used to see more than that in him was starting to lose faith. Neal had thought he was saving his friend, but he had actually almost lost him, because he acted like a criminal, fixing things his way, paying the price, the end justifying the means. He thought he had been doing the right thing at the time. He had to get Peter out of prison. He couldn’t have lived with himself if he hadn’t, and this had been his only option. He had hoped Peter would have understood. Now, he wasn’t sure he would ever.

 

**5:00 PM, Manhattan.**

“Boss, they found Neal’s anklet!”

Diana rushed into Peter’s office without knocking. Peter felt a rush of blood in his heart as he immediately got up and took the file she was holding out to him.

“It seems a Brooklyn resident found it Saturday night in his truck. Says it’s not his. According to the police report, he was about to throw it away, but saw the serial number and reported it.”

“Saturday? What took them so long?”

Diana shrugged.

“So where is it?” Peter asked.

“Brooklyn precinct had it sent to the Marshals.”

“Ask them to send it over here, and have forensics look for prints or DNA.”

“Already did. We should get results by tomorrow. They know it’s top priority.”

“Good.”

With a little bit of luck, they’d be more successful than with the envelope, which, as Peter had feared, had appeared perfectly cleaned, absolutely useless. But the anklet hadn’t been meant to be recovered by the FBI… With a little luck…

Peter looked up at his faithful agent. She had deep shadows under her eyes and she was missing her usual fierce shine.

“Thank you, Diana, for everything you’re doing here,” he said softly.

“Sure thing, boss. Caffrey’s one of us.”

“How are you holding up? Between the crazy hours here, and baby Theo at home to take care of all by yourself, this has to be a difficult juggle.”

Diana displayed a brave smile. “I told you I’m a master at multi-tasking. I also found an awesome babysitter who doesn’t mind the crazy hours as long as she’s paid. And before you start arguing, you’re the last person who should give me advice on getting rest. You’ve been putting in more hours than anyone else here.”

“Neal’s my responsibility. If anything were to happen to him…” Peter blinked to chase a reminiscence of his nightmare from the night. “I’d rather don’t think about it,” he said hastily.

“You okay, boss?”

Peter attempted a smile and vaguely waved his fears away. “I’m fine.”

Against his hope, Diana didn’t leave. Instead she was looking at him with persistence.

“Are you getting any sleep at all?”

No, he wasn’t. For the little time he forced himself to go home and lay down, he couldn’t steal more than a few minutes of sleep here and there. Each time, he’d wake up in sweat, heart racing and gasping for air. Each day passing made it a little worse, the scenarios of his nightmare becoming increasingly painful and graphic. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing his friend, begging for help, begging for Peter to find him, or worse, lying unconscious, bleeding out, bleeding to death.

Peter wiped the image off his mind and tried to focus on the here and now. “Some,” he said, but from Diana’s look he was completely failing at pretending being fine.

“I’ll be fine when we’ll find Neal.”

“We’ll find him, Peter.”

Peter nodded. The question was: would it be soon enough?

  
  
  
  
**Thursday**

  
  
**10:00 AM, Manhattan.**  
  
A new unread email appeared in Peter’s incoming box. It was a message from Forensics. _High priority: results on analysis #1394. Print analysis on N. Caffrey’s anklet device_. Holding his breath, Peter clicked on the email.  
  
He browsed feverishly through the message until his eyes caught what he was hoping for. A name. _Arthur Finnigan._  
  
They had a name. Peter tried not to let hope rise to much – it was just a name, it could be a dead end, or a wrong lead.  
  
He picked up his phone and dialed Jones to call for a meeting. Then he called Mozzie.  
  
  
  
  
 **11:00 AM, Manhattan.**  
  
As people gathered quickly in the conference room, Peter put up Finnigan’s picture on the flat screen. After asking Jones to do research on everything he could find on the suspect – their first in five days – Peter had called for a new meeting.  
  
“Meet Arthur Finnigan. His fingerprints were found on Neal’s anklet. He has quite a rap sheet. He’s served some time for armed robbery and assault on a police officer. He had been released after a key witness withdraw his testimony.  He’s been suspected in half a dozen other thefts. He’s dangerous and connected.”  
  
Peter slid copies of Finnigan’s file through the table. As the agents were going through them, Peter distributed the tasks.  
  
“I want you to look into his phone records, credentials, all known addresses. Check also his known associates and former suspects in those crimes he’s been suspected of. He doesn’t have the profile of a mastermind. He’s more probably hired muscle.”  
  
Out of habit, Peter turned to the far right of the room: Neal’s favorite spot. This was usually the moment of the briefing where the ever resourceful CI would suggest something. Except Neal wasn’t there. A probie that Peter didn’t know – probably one of Rice’s – was occupying his chair, raising a surprised look at him. Peter’s eyes drifted toward the window, his heart hurting.  
  
  
  
 **1:30 PM, the basement.**  
  
Clenching his fists, Neal pressed himself against the wall, next to the door. Big Guy would come back any minute now, and he would be ready.  
  
He heard the footsteps down the stairs, then the locks slowly turning in their pad. Neal held his breath and flattened himself even more against the wall. His heart was racing. Adrenaline was running through his veins. Big Guy pushed the door opened and stepped in. _Now_ Neal thought. He jumped on his guardian’s back, folded an arm against the throat and pressed hard. He was quick, but Big Guy was, well, big. He fought back, trying to get hold on Neal. Neal pressed his throat harder. This was the part of his plan he liked the less. It was crude, violent, and hazardous. But he had to get rid of his enemy. An enemy that wasn’t determined to give up easily. Stepping back, he pushed Neal violently against the wall. As his back hit the hard surface, Neal’s vision got blurry and stars danced around him. Closing his eyes shut, Neal tried to focus on keeping his hold against Big Guy’s neck. How long could it take for someone to pass out?  
  
Finally, Big Guy staggered and slowly slumped to the floor. Cautiously, keeping a high guard, Neal let go of him. Big Guy was out. Step One completed. Keeping an eye on the unconscious figure, Neal processed his pockets. He found keys, a lighter, but no phones. Quickly, he left the room and locked behind him. In silent, he climbed the stairs. At the door, he pressed his ear against the panel. No sound was coming from the corridor and Neal cracked it open, risking an eye. No one. Neal slid to the door he had broken open the day before. It had been repaired and reinforced with a lock that opened from the other side. Neal looked quickly through Big Guy’s keys and promptly found the right one.  
  
Slowly, carefully, ears in alert for any sound, Neal turned the handle. He paused, and when he was sure he didn’t hear any sound, he opened the door very slightly and risked his head through the breach.  One again, no one was in sight. Relieved, Neal let himself in and carefully closed the door behind him.  
  
In three strides, he was at the window, which didn’t make any difficulty to open.  The area was most definitely isolated. The house was surrounded by a vast land made of grass and earth. A couple trees were visible. All in all, not much of a place to hide. A long trail started at the house, leading to a bigger road far ahead. A car was parked about a hundred feet from the house.  
  
Neal bent over the frame. Not a soul in sight. He passed a leg through the window, then the other, and he slid outside. The rude gravel hurt his feet, but Neal barely noticed it. He had reached the outside, he was free.  
  
Or so he thought.  
  
Someone suddenly appeared around the corner of the house. Neal recognized the man with the cowboy boots that had been stalking him. Both equally shocked by the unexpected appearance, Neal and the man stopped short and stared at each other. Neal was the first to pull himself back together. He ran. He ran as fast as he could, disappearing around the opposite corner of the house, then straight forward, toward a wood he could see in the distance, far, too far away.  
  
“Caffrey!” In the silence, the shout hit Neal like an angry bullet. If he still didn’t know his kidnapper, it seems the man knew who he was. And he sure wasn’t happy that he escaped.  
  
Neal heard the engine of the car start. He looked frantically around. There was nowhere to hide. It wasn’t long until the car caught up on him, passed him and blocked his way. Neal changed direction, but his pursuer ran after him. Neal was fast, but malnourished and still recovering from his beat-up the previous day. The man suddenly jumped on him, taking them both to the ground. In the hand to hand fight, Neal didn’t resist for long. His already bruised body wasn’t fit and his opponent quickly gained the upper hand.  
  
“You’re lucky we need you alive,” the man hissed between his teeth as he pinned Neal to the ground. He took a gun that was tucked in his belt, and with the butt he hit Neal hard on the temple.  
  
Millions of stars invaded Neal’s vision, and as the world around him span, he slid into the dark.  
  
  
  
 **4:00 PM, the café near Federal Plaza**  
  
“Hey Moz’,” Peter greeted Mozzie as he sat at the table of the café.  
  
“Shhh, Suit. No names,” he whispered angrily.  
  
Peter raised his hand in sign of peace. “So did you find anything?” he asked.  
  
Mozzie nodded. He looked around, scanning the area, and when he was sure no one was watching them, he opened his shoulder bag and took out a folder. He slid in on the table toward Peter with a finger. Peter turned the file and opened it, which got him a slap on the file from Mozzie.  
  
“Don’t open it here!”  
  
 Peter snorted in annoyance. Mozzie thought, irrelevantly, that his nostrils flared like a bull’s. The Suit was certainly not in a good mood. Maybe Mozzie shouldn’t press him too hard today.  
  
“It contains sensitive information. And I wouldn’t want anyone to report I’ve been playing snitch. It’s bad for my business,” he said more peacefully. Despite the appearances – and it would be hard to pretend the man seated in front of him wasn’t a Fed – Mozzie was _not_ an informant.  
  
  
 **09:00 PM, Washington DC.**  
  
El launched the video chat program and greeted Peter with her usual “Hey, hon”.  
  
“Hey hon,” Peter answered back, lighting up at the sight of her.  
  
He looked tired. Well, more like worn-out exhausted. Dark shadows were encircling his tired eyes. He looked abnormally pale, and he obviously hadn’t bothered giving his hair a comb this morning.   “I see you’re once again still at the office.”  
  
“Yes, I am. We’re working on some leads. We may have identified Neal’s kidnappers. At least some of them.”  
  
Elizabeth felt a hint of relief growing in her chest. She knew it wasn’t the end just yet, she’d been at Peter’s side long enough to know how investigations went. But Peter’s assured tone told her that it was a solid lead. And he seemed a little more upbeat than he was the days before.  
  
“Oh hon, this is great.”  
  
“We’ve been coordinating surveillance on several locations where we think they may stay. I’m going on a stakeout tonight.”  
  
Elizabeth suddenly frowned as she noticed Peter looking embarrassed. He was fidgeting with something off screen.  
  
“What is it, Peter?” she asked gently.  
  
Peter took a deep breath and looked straight at her. “I… I don’t think I’ll be able to come to DC this weekend. I know I had promised. But the investigation is moving forward, and we need all the forces we can get.”  
  
Elizabeth felt sad, though this was expected.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Peter said.  
  
El shook her head.“It’s okay, hon, I understand.”  
  
“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”  
  
“You’d better.”  
  
Peter touched the screen, and she mirrored his gesture. They exchange a sad smile.  
  
“I miss you too, hon. I love you,” Peter said tenderly.  
  
“I love you too.”  
  
Elizabeth shut the computer and let go a heavy sigh. New York had never felt so far away. She didn’t like feeling so far, with her loved ones out of reach. She glanced around at her half empty apartment. It still needed quite some work, and a few more furniture and accessories that she had hoped to buy over the weekend. It’ll have to wait. Not for too long, she hoped.

 

 

**Friday**

  
  
**07:43 AM, Manhattan**  
  
Late, he was late. Fatigue was slowing him down. Everything seemed to take more time. He was functioning on just three scant hours of restless sleep and he was moving way too slowly.  What little energy he had was used up by the time he’d finished getting ready for work.  To make matters worse, he got caught in the peak of rush hour traffic and was frustratingly late getting into the office.  
  
As he retrieved his mail on his way to his office, Peter noticed another unmarked envelope, address noted with the same handwriting. Anxiety spiked in his veins. He set his coffee aside on his desk and discarded the rest of the mail. He sat on his chair and reached for a pair of gloves he was keeping in the bottom drawer of his desk. He put them on and took a deep breath before ripping the envelope open. Inside, was a typed letter.  
  
 _If you want to see him again you’ll depose $ 25 million in cash in locker 126, YMCA, West Side. No FBI, no trap, or you’ll receive more parts of your little friend_.  
  
Peter shivered. He bit his fist not to cry right now and here in his office. Forty-eight hours, that’s all they had to find Neal. He’d been dreading this moment, when kidnappers made their demands. He had hoped they’d give him something he could work with, space to maneuver, stall. He had hoped for at least a meeting, or a traceable phone call, anything that would get them closer to their enemy.  
  
He didn’t have twenty-five million.  
  
Maybe he could ask Mozzie. But even for resourceful criminals, twenty-five million was a lot of money, and forty-eight hours was a short delay.  
  
Forty-eight hours.  
  
So little time, and their investigation was nowhere near the end. They had so many names and locations to check. Needles in a haystack. And forty-eight hours.  
  
Maybe he could try and gather the money, just in case the investigation wouldn’t go fast enough. He wouldn’t hinder the investigation. He would give the letter to Forensics – though he didn’t have much hope he would give them much more clues than the first one -, he wouldn’t hide it. He would just gather the money. Just in case.  
  
But if he gave the letter, it would get official. Rice would want to set surveillance around the YMCA building. And if they set surveillance, he wouldn’t be able to drop the money.  
  
Peter looked down at the letter lying on his desk. He wiped his sweaty forehead with his palm. Seconds were flowing by inexorably, and Peter had to make a decision.  
  
Clenching his teeth, he discarded the tempting thought. He felt angry just for thinking of doing such a thing. That wasn’t the way to go. _We don’t negotiate with criminals._ More than that, _There’s no guarantee they’d keep their part of the bargain_. He knew that. He had to advise his team, work with the FBI to find Neal. His heart was racing. It was not so easy to do things right when it got personal. But he had to. At least he had to try.  
  
They had leads, they had names. They could do this. They had to. Or Peter wasn’t sure he would be able to forgive himself.  
  
  
  
 **04:00 PM, Manhattan**  
  
Different teams had been sent throughout New York State, and even in neighboring New Jersey to check on known and suspected locations attached to Finnigan and several of his most recent associates. Peter and Agent Rice were coordinating from the conference room. So far, they didn’t have any luck. No trace of Finnigan, nor Neal.  
  
Peter was restless. Each negative report left him a little more strained, a little less optimistic.  
  
Jones suddenly rushed into the room. “A phone registered under an old alias of Parker’s – one of Finnigan’s associates that the little guy gave us - has been sporadically active the last few days in a remote area south of Camden – near Cherry Hill. Switched on for only a few minutes at a time. Obviously avoiding being tracked.”  
  
Peter immediately perked up. “Send me a team immediately. Camden? Damn, that’s far. See with the local PD if they’ve seen him. Eventually check for facial recognition on their city CCTV footage.”  
  
Jones left the room promptly. Peter pressed his fist in his opposite hand. The net was finally closing in on their prey.  
  
  
 **08:00 PM, Brooklyn.**  
  
Peter got of his car and climbed the front steps to his house. His muscles were exhausted from the tension and stress. He could feel the weight of every inch of his body, like hundreds of little anvils. Yet, he was already dreading the moment he would have to lay down. But he really needed to get some rest if he had to drive to Camden at the wee hours. The FBI confirmed that Finnigan and Parker were there and their likely location – a small house in a rundown area – had been spotted. To minimize the chance of letting him slip through their fingers, they had decided to be all set for a take down at dawn.  
  
It wasn’t until he entered the house that Peter realized the light was on. He frowned, trying to remember if he might have forgotten to switch it off before leaving early that morning. He was already reaching for his gun under his jacket when Elizabeth appeared from the kitchen.  
  
Peter blinked. “Hon?”  
  
Elizabeth approached and they fell into each other’s arms. Peter buried his face in Elizabeth’s fresh hair and she nestled against his chest, holding him tight. He slowly rubbed her back and he felt  some of the tension in his muscles subside a little at her contact.  
  
“I thought that since you couldn’t make it to DC, I could as well come to you,” El whispered.  
  
“You’re an angel,” Peter said as he bent forward to kiss his wife. “But, you know, I might not be much around this weekend. I have to drive down to Camden in a few hours.”  
  
“I assumed you’d be busy. But at least for the few hours you’ll be home, I’ll be here with you. If only to help you relax and make sure you’ll have something to eat.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

**Second Saturday**

 

**05:42 AM, South of Camden, New Jersey.**

The first hints of dawn were making their way, chasing the darkness of the night. Under the joint command of Peter and SWAT officer Clarkson, agents had been divided into three teams, each approaching the target from different directions. They had orders to stop at reasonable distance from the house, closing in by foot, in the greatest silence possible, in order to surround the house.

Peter stopped his car, and Agent Rice exited. They would lead the team approaching up front, down the path from the main road. They would have a few minutes, waiting for everyone to take position around the house, and Peter thought this would be the perfect moment to grab a bite. He took his sandwich out of the lunch bag El had made for him and followed Rice. They took their positions and Peter opened the wrapping and started eating with appetite as he kept his eyes on the house, looking for any sign of movement.

Alerted by the smell, Rice turned to Peter a horrified face. “What is that?!”

“Devilled ham,” Peter said with gluttony. “Want some?”

Rice looked positively horrified. “No thanks.” Then she added. “How can you eat that so early?”

Peter shrugged and swallowed a big bite of his sandwich, thankful of his wife for being so awesome. He was just finishing when his radio crackled. “Perimeter is set, Peter. Waiting on your signal.”

“It’s a go!” Peter shouted through the radio. He secured his gun in his hands and move toward the house.

 

**06:20 PM, South of Camden, New Jersey.**

The room was empty. Neal wasn’t there. There was an old mattress lying in the corner of the deem basement, with stains that looked suspiciously like dry blood. Peter felt like a punch in his stomach and for a second he couldn’t breathe. Suddenly he turned around and run back upstairs where FBI agents were cuffing Finnigan, Parker and a couple of other thugs caught in. Charging at Parker, the one they had assumed was the leader of the group, Peter grabbed him by the collar and slammed him violently against the wall behind.

“Where is he?” he roared in the face of Parker, ignoring the other agents trying to pull him away. “Where is Neal?”

Parker wasn’t of the kind to be intimidated by some rough handling and he simply shrugged. Peter pressed him harder and higher, Parker’s feet lifted above the ground.

“Where. Is. He.” Peter repeated in a low voice.

“They moved him.” Parker finally admitted, in a choked voice.

Peter released his hold. “When, where?”

“Yesterday.”

“Where?” Peter repeated, his tone once again menacing.

“I don’t know, I swear.”

Peter stepped closer. “Who?”

Parker exchanged a look with Finnigan.

“I want a deal,” he finally said. “Official. On paper.”

They were running out of time. They had to find Neal before the end of the day. Peter didn’t have the money, and he was three hours from Penn Station.

“I want a name!” he roared.

Parker shook his head.

Peter breathed heavily and pinched his nose. “Give me their phones,” he urged to Jones.

Flipping through the call logs of both phones, Peter quickly spotted a common name, called several times in the last few days. He looked intensely at both men.

“Simmons,” he said. Finnigan flinched. Peter grinned coldly. Parker sent his partner a dark look.

“Take them in,” he ordered to his Agents. “And put a trace on this number,” he asked Jones.

 

**07:34 PM, Another remote house near Camden, New Jersey.**

Gun drawn and steady in his hands, Peter angrily kicked the door hard with his foot. The lock gave with a loud crack. The room was small and gloomy, with only a dim light filtering from upstairs. It was empty, except for a slumped figure dumped in a corner who stirred slightly at the commotion of Peter’s noisy entrance. Peter rushed to it and dropped to his knees.

“Neal?” he called softly.

The young man turned his face toward his friend and a slight smile brushed his lips. Peter gently moved Neal’s dumped hair away from his face to get a clear look at him. His lower lip was swollen and a bruise was visible on the side of his chin. There was also a mark of dried blood at the base of his hairline. Peter clenched his teeth as he felt his heart sank in his chest.

“Neal?” Peter repeated, as he anxiously glared at Neal’s dirty and at part torn shirt and pants. A lump caught him at the throat as he caught sight of Neal’s bare feet and hands bonded so tight that the plastic restrains were tearing his skin.

Peter turned to the agents standing at the door. “Get me some paramedics here, now!” The agents nodded and disappeared, leaving the two friends together.  
Taking a knife out of his pocket, Peter cut Neal’s ties. He tried to be as gentle as he could, but Neal couldn’t suppress a moan, which in turn made Peter winced.

“…found me,” Neal whispered in a hoarse voice.

Peter cleared his throat in what sounded dangerously like a sob. “Of course. I’m the worldwide expert at finding Neal Caffrey.”

“This one doesn’t count.”

Freed, Neal laboriously sat up and Peter sat by his side, wrapping a protective arm around Neal’s shoulders. “No, it doesn’t,” he said softly. “But that’s the one that matters the most.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Neal whispered. Looking up, he greeted Peter of a warm smile. Peter felt his heart crack slightly. Those genuine smiles had been quite sparse the past few months.

Neal leaned in against Peter and rested his head on his shoulder.

“I knew you’d find me.”

Peter chuckled lightly and squeezed Neal’s shoulder. “I knew you didn’t run.”

 

**09:00 PM, Bellevue Hospital.**

A medical chopper had brought Neal back to New York on Peter’s insistence. Paramedics had argued they had a decent enough ER in Camden, but the agent, flashing his badge and making calls had obtained a helicopter to transport Neal home. Peter had climbed in with him, refusing to leave his side, for which Neal had been silently grateful. During the entire course of the short flight, Peter had kept a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder.

As they approached the island, Neal was warmed by the sight of the familiar shapes of Manhattan skyscrapers. He looked up at Peter whose eyes were still on him. They exchanged a silent smile.

Neal was quickly admitted into a room, and it wasn’t long until he was taken to run X-rays and a CT scan. Peter only reluctantly let go of Neal and sat on the second bed, unoccupied at the moment.

“I’ll be right back,” Neal said lightly.

“And I’ll be right here,” Peter answered in a matching tone.

Left alone, Peter finally allowed himself to let go. All the tension that had grown inside of him for the past week violently broke and Peter felt immensely tired. Big tears run down his eyes, rolling along his cheeks, down his chin. He didn’t make a move to brush them away, he let them go, and with them the strain, the fear. They were tears of relief. The relief of having found Neal in time, alive, safe and sound – mostly. The relief of having been able to make justice prevail, when it mattered the most, when he was emotionally compromised. Parker and Finnigan were in custody. Tomorrow, they’ll interrogate them. They’ll put surveillance around the YMCA. Arrest the last one. The wheels of Justice were already rolling. And the balance will be restored, as soon as Neal came back from his X-ray check.

Peter looked at the pillow beside him. It looked incredibly attractive…

 

**09:30 PM, Bellevue Hospital.**

Neal went through his exams in a blurry haze. Now that the tension had broken off, he was exhausted. All patched up, they rolled him back to his room. What he saw there brought a smile on his face. Peter was curled up on top of the second bed, in a fetal position, sound asleep.

“Don’t wake him up,” Neal asked the doctor. “I have the feeling he had quite a few hours of sleep to catch up on.”

Eyelids heavier by the minute, it wasn’t long until Neal joined him.

 

**10:00 PM, Bellevue Hospital.**

Elizabeth ran to the admission desk.

“Neal Caffrey,” she asked, out of breath.

“Visitor hours are over, m’am,” the clerk said laconically.

“Peter Burke, my husband, he’s here too.”

The clerk looked at her log and shook her head. “I have no one under this name.”

Elizabeth felt her blood boiled. Luckily, a nurse approached her. “They’re in Room 11, please follow me. Given the hour, I would ask you to be quiet and make your visit as short as possible.”

Elizabeth nodded and followed the nurse down the corridor. In front of Room 11, she took a deep breath and composed herself a little before knocking lightly and pushed the door. The room was in the dark, the only light coming from the opened door. Neal and Peter were sleeping and didn’t move when she came in.

For a moment, she was alarmed by the sight of Peter lying on a bed. He hadn’t said anything about being hurt when he had called earlier to give her the happy news that Neal had been found and would be fine. But coming closer, she noticed that he was still wearing his clothes, including his bulletproof vest, and was curled over the cover. His breathing was even and his face was peaceful.

Elizabeth smiled. Of course, now that Neal was safe, Peter could relax and sleep. She sat next to her husband on the bed and brushed his hair and the small of his neck. He stirred and finally opened his eyes, smiling at the sight of her.

Sitting up, Peter looked over at Neal, still deep asleep.

“How is he?” El whispered.

Peter looked at her, then back to Neal. “He’s… fine? Damn, I fell asleep, I didn’t see him coming back. I don’t actually know. I should probably find his doctor.”

“He’s going to be fine,” The nurse on duty informed them. “He has a bruised rib, a deep laceration of the scalp, and a few bruises and superficial cuts. He’s slightly dehydrated and the doctor advised to keep him under observation for 24 hours.”

Elizabeth was tightly holding Peter’s arm, a lump in her throat. The nurse didn’t seem worried, but she couldn’t help feeling distraught by what it meant about the way his captors had treated Neal.

As they were heading back to Neal’s room, the nurse called them back. “Hmm, Agent Burke? We’re way past visitor hour, please keep it short.”

Peter sighed. Elizabeth could see he was reluctant to leave his friend, and she knew exactly why. He was the same after she was kidnapped by Keller a couple years ago. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight. It was his way of saying “I’m here now, you’re safe”. It was also probably a reassurance for himself that indeed, his loved ones were there, safe and sound.

“Two minutes,” Peter promised.

The nurse smiled and nodded. “Two minutes.”

 

 

**Second Sunday**

 

**04:00 AM, Bellevue Hospital.**

Neal woke up in a jolt and disoriented. For a moment he thought he was still being held hostage, but he quickly realized that he was in a bed. It took him some time to remember the rescue, Peter’s anxious eyes, then his smile. Neal turned his head to the side, trying to distinguish through the darkness Peter’s figure on the bed next to his. But the bed was empty, making Neal’s anxiety rise again.

Suddenly Neal realized there was something tugged between his fingers. It was a piece of paper. Neal reached for his bedside lamp, switched the light on and looked at the piece of paper. He unfolded it and the sight of Peter’s distinctive handwriting made him smile.

_Neal,_

_We got kick out by the nurse. I didn’t want to wake you up. I’ll be back in the morning. Get some rest._

_Peter_

 

 

**10:30 AM, Bellevue Hospital.**

Neal was woken by the muffled noise of a heated conversation. It was daylight now. The room was empty. The sound was coming from just outside his door. Neal listened carefully. One of the voices was definitely Peter’s and he didn’t seem happy.

“He’s not even awake yet! This can wait. He’s not going anywhere.”

“It’s just the procedure, Burke,” someone said, sounded just as annoyed as Peter. “We need to know what happened.”

“I told you, it was a kidnapping. Look, he’ll make a full report to you as soon as he’s released. You have my word.”

“We still need to –“

“Give it to me, I’ll put it on myself.”

Neal relaxed on his pillow. He wasn’t sure what the stir was about, but whatever it was, it felt good to hear Peter defending him.

Peter cautiously pushed the door and glanced at Neal. When he saw he was awake, he greeted him with a bright smile.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself.”

“How are you?”

Neal shrugged, which turned out to be a bad move and he winced. “I’m fine,” he said nonetheless.

“Right, I see that,” Peter smirked. He tilted his head, rising an eyebrow. He wouldn’t let this go so easily.

“Okay, my body hurts. And where it doesn’t hurt, it itches. But I’m good, really. It’s not the worse I had, you know.”

Neal was aiming for some lightness, but Peter didn’t seem in the right mood, as he suddenly turned very pale.

“Really?” he asked, emotion sensible in his voice.

“I’m just glad this is all over,” Neal said quickly.

Peter let go a heavy sigh. “Yes, me too.”

Neal caught a shadow passing over his friend’s face. “You okay?”

Peter forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I am. Now.”

“Long week, huh?”

“You could say that.”

Neal pointed at the door. “So what was that about, outside?”

Peter shook his head with clear annoyance. “The Marshals.”

That’s only then that Neal realized he wasn’t wearing his anklet. Peter had left him the whole night on his own, without surveillance or restraints. He could have run. That was probably the subject of that conversation Neal had just overheard.

“They thought I run?” he asked. Peter nodded. “Is that why you insisted on getting me transported to Manhattan? To have me back into my radius?”

Peter shrugged. “It was more that I needed to feel you back inside _my_ radius. And in case they wanted to keep you here for a few days, it would have made it easier for me to visit. I was worried and… I just wanted to bring you home. That was a little foolish, wasn’t it?”

“Wait –“ Truly, Neal was slow today. “Home? Isn’t home D.C., now, for you?” He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Peter would have to leave for D.C. soon, leaving him alone here in New York for the rest of his time to serve. He suddenly felt betrayed that Peter hadn’t taken him to D.C. instead.

A sad smile brushed Peter’s lips. “I didn’t go to D.C.”

Neal frowned. “What?”

“I’m staying at my good old White Collar division of the Bureau’s Manhattan office after all.”

Neal was dumbfounded. “Why? What happened?”

“They turned down your demand for an early release. That’s what happened.”

Neal was now staring at Peter with wide opened eyes. He felt like his heart went through all the colors of the emotional rainbow: shocked by the news, pained for his friend, grateful that they’ll be able to stay together, moved him to his bones. He knew he should say something, but he couldn’t find the words.

“How about Elizabeth?”

“She still went for that job at the National Gallery. She likes it there. I think. It’s not exactly been the easiest week, for any of us, it’s been difficult settling down in our new life. Hopefully it’ll be easier now.”

“I’m sorry,” Neal said in a low voice.

Peter shrugged. “It’s not your fault you got kidnapped.”

“So, who was it?”

“We have a couple guys in custody. Finnigan and Parker. And we’re still looking for Simmons. Do any of these names ring a bell to you?”

Neal shook his head. “Were any of them wearing cowboy boots?”

Peter thought for a while. “Yes, Parker, I think.”

Peter’s phone buzzed. He retrieved it from his jacket’s chest pocket and a predatory smile suddenly appeared on his face as he read the text.

“Oh, they just found Simmons. I gotta go.”

Neal could distinctly see the sparks in his dark pupils. Simmons – who ever that was – better be prepared to face the wrath of Special Agent Peter Burke.

But when he turned to Neal, the usual kindness had returned in Peter’s eyes, with a hint of additional embarrassment, as he pulled the anklet from his pocket.

“You have to put this back on; otherwise they won’t leave you alone.”

Neal sat as he pulled the cover to show his leg. There was a bandage around his ankle, where the plastic restrains had torn Neal’s skin. Peter stopped, unsure of what to do.

“Just put it on, it’s okay,” Neal insisted. “The bandage should protect my skin.”

Peter wrapped the electronic device around Neal’s ankle. It biped and the green light appeared.

“You’re sure it doesn’t hurt?”

Neal shook his head. _Not this time_.

Peter fidgeted on his phone and smiled happily as he watched the screen. “There you are, right where you are.”

This had Neal to chuckle. “I’m not sure how I should feel seeing you so cheerful to track me on your phone.”

Peter shrugged. “Tracking you is my second nature.”

Neal looked pensively at his anklet. It felt heavy. “So, what now?” he asked.

Peter turned serious and looked at Neal. “Well, I guess we’re both back to work at the White Collar division.” A frown appeared on his forehead and he sighed. “I know this isn’t what you were hoping but… I’ll find you an new handler.”

Neal’s heart sank. “A new handler,” he cut off.

“Yes, I had reviewed a few pretty good candidates. You seemed to get along well with Agent Siegel. I could find you someone with a similar profile. Otherwise, Jones is willing to take you under his wing.”

Neal didn’t know what to say. His chest felt tight. Or maybe it was the air suddenly feeling thick.

“But for now, get some rest. I’ll see if I can get you a couple days off,” Peter went on, “See you later, Neal.”

Neal nodded and didn’t answer.

 

 

**11:00 AM, Bellevue Hospital**

The door opened and Elizabeth appeared, a steaming hot cup of coffee in her hand. She literally lit up as she caught sight of Neal.

“Good morning, Neal,” she greeted him warmly, as she put the cup aside on the bed trail and came to give him a warm and gentle hug.

“Good morning, Elizabeth. It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too. We’ve been so worried about you.”

Neal smiled reassuringly. “I’m fine now. It’s over.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Did you catch Peter?” Neal asked. “He left not long ago.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “He went back to the office to wrap up the investigation. He mentioned some payback time, too.”

Elizabeth looked at her watch and smiled bravely at Neal. She didn’t say a thing but it wasn’t difficult for Neal to read her mind. She wouldn’t have seen her husband much of the weekend, and in a few hours, she’ll have to leave.

“He promised he’d come back as fast as he could,” he said.

Elizabeth laughed lightly. “He told me that too. And for once, I do believe he won’t do any extra hours.”

“He misses you,” Neal approved.

Elizabeth reached of a cup of coffee and settled in the visitor chair next to Neal’s bed. “There’s that. And there’s you, too,” she said.

As Neal raised an eyebrow, she explained. “I get the feeling he isn’t going to let you go far from his sight for a few days. It’s his way to deal with those things.”

“I don’t think I’ll mind, for once,” Neal said with a smile.

“How is your new job at the National Gallery?” he asked.

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with happiness. “It’s amazing. Have you ever been there?”

Neal tilted his head, an enigmatic smile on his lips. “A few times. Allegedly.”

“Of course…” Elizabeth sighed, amused.

Neal quickly changed the subject to a less slippery ground.  “Are you finding your way around DC?”

“I’m still adjusting. It’s been a difficult week, and though my body was in DC, my mind and heart remained in New York.”

“It must be hard, without Peter.” Neal said softly. “You two seem so organically linked. I can’t imagine you living separately.”

Elizabeth looked up at Neal. “It is a little hard, but we’ll manage. It’s not going to be a permanent arrangement. Eventually, either Peter will join me in Washington, or I’ll come back to New York. I still have a few options here. But for now, this is what we want, and we’ll make it work. And now that he’s found you, it should be a little easier.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Oh Neal, don’t think that for a minute. If someone’s to blame for the situation, it’s Peter and his indecisions.”

“But if it wasn’t for my sentence…”

“You and I both know he wouldn’t really have been happy as a section chief in DC. It’s the best for everyone. I got to get the job of my dreams, Peter will continue to work actively on White Collar cases, and you’ll have him at your side until the end.”

A shadow clouded Neal’s gaze and he looked down. “I’m not sure how close from his side he still wants me.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Why is that?”

“Well…” Neal was a little uncertain. “Before everything happened, things at work were a little edgy.”

“Oh, honey,” Elizabeth said, “Peter just spent a sleepless week moving earth and heaven to find you.”

Neal looked embarrassed. “I know, Elizabeth. I didn’t mean… I’m just not sure where we stand right now. I thought we were okay. But he said he’d find me a new handler. I don’t know anymore. I’m not even sure _why_ he vouched for my early release.”

Elizabeth bent over and grabbed Neal’s hand. She waited for him to look at her before speaking softly. “I know Peter can be… difficult, sometimes. But he loves you. Don’t ever forget that.”

“But will he take me back?”

Elizabeth looked fondly at Neal. “If that’s what you want, tell him.”

 

**5:03 PM, Penn Station, platform 9**

They didn’t speak much during the ride to the station. Holding Elizabeth’s suitcase in one hand, her hand in the other, Peter walked his wife to the platform. They didn’t need the small talks, nor the effusion of great good byes. They simply breathed in each other’s presence, enjoying those last minutes together.

They waited for the train huddled together, both lost in their own thoughts.

“You should talk to Neal,” Elizabeth finally said, out of the blue.

Peter frowned. “He said he’s fine. And he seems fine to me.”

“I’m not talking about the kidnapping.”

Peter sighed. “Did he say anything to you? I thought we were good.”

“But you won’t take him back?”

“What?” Peter asked, surprised.

“You’re assigning him a new handler.”

“I thought that’s what he wanted. I’m not sure where we still stand, you know. He really wanted out.  I did all I could to get him an early release. It’s not happening. So I’m just trying to get him the second best solution. He didn’t seem really happy working with me lately. Which is probably my fault… But… Each times I tried to get closer to him, he pushed me back.”

“Just talk to him. Let him talk to you. And tell him how you feel. I think you both need to open up a little.”

Peter growled.

Elizabeth kissed him on the cheek. “Just think about it, okay?”

Peter nodded. He knew Elizabeth was right. He just didn’t know how to do it. He wasn’t good at it, opening up. And it was all so complicated…

When it was time for Elizabeth to get on the train, Peter wrapped his arms around her waist and they gave each other a long kiss assorted with a hug strong enough for the memory to last the entire week.

“Call me when you arrive,” Peter said as El climbed in the train and Peter handed her the suitcase.

She bent over to grab a last kiss and got inside to find a seat.

 

**7:00 PM, Bellevue Hospital**

Neal felt bored out of his mind. They wouldn’t release him until the following morning. TV was boring, and the painkillers, if effective, had a serious side effect on his ability to sketch, or even think properly. He wasn’t allowed outside his room, not without a Marshal or an FBI Agent’s supervision.

At least, his interview with the Marshals had been rather well. They seemed to have finally accepted he hadn’t run.

_I knew you didn’t run_. Peter’s words came back to him, as well as his earnest smile when he saw him this morning. Neal had to admit that this smile was tickling his heart in a very comforting way. And yet the Agent wouldn’t take him back… Neal wasn’t sure why this sudden swing, when everything had seemed to finally fall into places. He didn’t remember doing anything wrong. Well, not since Hagen anyway.

He did ask Mozzie to crack the anklet. Maybe Peter knew. Did he? Neal’s thought were getting fussy. He was slowly drifting into an uneasy sleep until he heard the door of his room open.

It was Peter, and he wasn’t exactly smiling. His face was a complex mix of surprise, horror, disbelief, and… amusement?

“What did you do to your hair?” he exclaimed as he stared at Neal’s new cropped-haircut.

Neal shrugged. “I had to do something. I was looking ridiculous with that missing lock on the side.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “After… _this_ ,” he said with a vague gesture toward Neal’s bruised cheek, “all you worry about is your look? Well, at least now I’m definitely convinced you’re all right.”

Neal smiled. “I am. So, did you get all the bad guys?”

“We did,” Peter said with a cocky smile. “Simmons was the one behind your kidnapping, the guy with the boots. He was working for a man named Ivanovich, Russian mob. It appears our bust a few months ago left him out of business, and with quite a debt. He wanted to make me pay for it.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“And all this time I thought it was someone who had something against me.”

They exchanged a brief smile.

“It’s not always your fault, Neal.”

 

**Second Monday**

 

  
**09:30 AM, Riverside.**

Neal turned the knob and pushed the door of his apartment. He took a deep breath. He was home. And apparently not alone.

“I know you’re here,” he said loud enough.

Mozzie emerged from the bathroom. “How can you possibly know?”

Neal could point at the missing bottle of wine from the rack – now in Mozzie’s hand. Or the empty glass in the sink. He could mention his friend’s unmistakable cologne – surprisingly identifiable for a conman as invisible as Mozzie. But he didn’t say anything. Instead he gave a casual shrug assorted with a satisfied smile. “I’m that good.”

Mozzie mumbled something and retrieved two clean glasses from the cupboard and setting them on the table, he filled them generously.

“Welcome back my friend,” he simply said, offering a glass to Neal.

The young man accepted the glass and greeting with a light bow of the head as they clang their glasses and sat at the table.

The familiar routine of a shared glass with Mozzie felt good to Neal. It was all over, he was finally home. He smiled and relaxed on his chair.

 

**6:00 PM, Riverside**

Neal opened the door and smiled at Peter, who seemed to be unexpectedly nervous.

“Hi Neal,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m all good, thanks,” Neal said. “What about you? Something wrong?”  Peter looked up at Neal, frowning. “You seem a little tense,” Neal noted.

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally he took a deep breath. “Could we talk?” he asked, his eyes avoiding Neal’s.

Neal felt a lump caught his throat. “Talk about what?”

Peter swallowed and gazed up at Neal, sending him an unsure look. “About us.”

Neal distinctively felt the blood drain out of his face. He didn’t know what to say and they both stood there, next to the door, none of them sure on how to react, or proceed.

“I think – El thinks – but I think she’s right, that it’d do us both some good,” Peter mumbled. “But… I want you to know that it’s not… I’m here as your friend. And I just want to clear the air. Make sure we’re all good, you know?”

Neal nodded though he wasn’t sure he really liked where this was going. He gestured Peter to seat at the table.

“Beer?” he asked, trying his best to sound casual.

Peter nodded quickly as he settled at the table. Neal retrieved a beer from the fridge, a bottle of wine from the rack, and poured himself a glass before seating opposite to Peter.

Peter went on. “That thing that we have, this strong friendship, it scares me. A little, sometimes.”

“How so?”

“We’d do anything for each other. But…”

Neal felt a knock in his stomach. They couldn’t be going there again. Not so soon. “Is this about Dawson?” He asked, a little on the defensive.

Peter looked up briefly at Neal before his gaze drifted away but it wasn’t the dark reproachful look Neal was almost expecting. Instead it was clouded, uncertain, almost afraid.

“I’m sorry Neal. I really am. I know I should thank you, for what you did, and I can’t. I know why you did it. I understand. Really I do. And I feel like a terrible friend. And it kills me to see how it hurts you…” Peter was fidgeting with the label on his beer, still unable to meet Neal’s eyes. “I’m not comfortable with the situation, what it means for me, who I’ve become. I feel like you’re dragging me to some place I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be this kind of guy, this kind of agent. There are lines I won’t cross. I serve the system, I can’t corrupt it.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t do anything. I did it all on my own…”

“But by accepting it, I become an accomplice. I become… corrupted.”

Peter suddenly looked up at Neal and the intensity of his gaze, pleading for understanding surprised him. “I felt like I was a dirty cop and I couldn’t stand it. I could barely look at myself in the mirror when thinking about it…”

Peter’s voice faded away and he brushed a hand over his face. Silent settled. Neal didn’t know what to say. He was seeing the situation in an all new light. Too busy dealing with Hagen, the Codex, Rachel and his own pain, he never thought of how his own actions could reflect on Peter. Simply, he hadn’t given a thought of what could happen if Peter discovered the truth. He was too focused on making sure this wouldn’t happen…

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Neal whispered.

Peter looked up and shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“And yet you agreed to vouch for my sentence to be dropped. Even though you don’t think I deserve it.”  
Peter looked at Neal sideways and a small smile brushed his lips. “I just want you to be happy, Neal. And I value your good actions more than the bad ones. You did a lot of good. A _lot_. You deserved that early release. I’m truly sorry it didn’t work out.”

Neal didn’t answer. He wished he could say it was all fine. But it wasn’t, not really.

“You only have six months left, Neal,” Peter went on. “It’s not that bad. It would be too bad to screw it all now. In six months you get a clean plate again. We’ll work it out.”

Neal nodded. He liked the sound of the “we”.

“So,” Peter went on, “who do you want to be your new handler?”

Neal looked up at him. “I get to choose my handler?” he asked, incredulous.

Peter shrugged, a little embarrassed. ‘Yeah. Well, that’s the least I can do. So, would you rather have someone from the office, or someone outside?”

“I can pick my handler,” Neal repeated. “What kind of supervising officer are you?” he chuckled.

“Not a very good one, I know,” Peter muttered, looking down.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“This isn’t funny, Neal. Look, I had reviewed a few pretty good candidates. You seemed to get along well with Agent Siegel. I could find you someone with a similar profile. Otherwise, Jones is willing to take you under his wing.”

It blurted out if Neal’s mouth before he could even realize it. “Can’t it be you?”

Peter looked up at Neal, a quizzical look on his face.

“I know you’re ASAC now,” Neal pressed on, “but you’re still actively conducting investigation on the field. I won’t be that much of a hassle – I’ll make an effort, I promise. And Diana and Jones can keep an eye on me whenever you’re stuck with paperwork.”

Mention of his administrative duties made Peter winced.

“Is that really what you want? I thought you had enough of me,” Peter said in a small voice, sounding resigned. “I know things have been a little rocky between us the past few months, but I felt like you were pushing away. Each time I tried to cross that bridge, you stepped back. There was a time, when you’d say that, anklet or not, you’d be stepping out of the elevator on the 21st floor. Now I have the feeling that the minute the anklet comes off, you’ll be gone.”

Neal felt a knot in his stomach. There was some truth in Peter’s words. Not that he’ll be gone, but he did have enough of being the FBI’s too valuable asset.

“Something changed,” Peter continued. “That’s probably my fault. I asked too much of you. I’ve been mixing two different things. My desire to see you reform, and using you as a CI. On the one hand, I encourage you to go straight, and on the other hand I ask you to be a criminal for us. And in all this, I’ve been driven by what I wanted for you. I thought you wanted to change while I was only projecting my own desires on you. And it’s not right. I can’t force you to change if you don’t want to.”

Peter took a sip from his beer. “But then, I’m not sure I still have it to be your handler. Everyone – Philip, Agent Siegel – they all ended arresting their CIs, sent them back to jail. I don’t want that. It’d kill me. That cat and mouse game we’ve been playing, it’d stopped being fun a long time ago. Now, each time I catch you doing something wrong, it’s just _painful_ , Neal.”

“But –“ Neal protested, but Peter cut him off.

“I first thought that by being your handler, and covering for you, I was protecting you. But I’m not sure anymore. It feels more like I’m indulging you and it’s going to lead us both to the point where I won’t be able to protect you anymore and we’ll go down together.”

Neal suddenly stood up, pushing back his chair behind, anger boiling in his veins.

“But I want to change Peter! I don’t want to be criminal anymore. You made me believe I could be something else, someone good. And I believed you. And now you’re telling me I can’t? If even you stop believing in me, then…”

Neal bent forward and stepped closer to Peter. “Something changed you said? You stopped thinking I could change, you stopped seeing anything but the criminal, that’s what changed.”

“I’m just trying to accept you, the way you are, Neal. Of course, you’re much more than a criminal. I’ve always believed it and I still do. But I’m not sure of what you want. And I thought I owed you to respect your choices, whether I agreed with them or not. You keep telling me you want to go straight, and yet you keep planning things behind my back. And, well, it hurts a little. I’m willing to work it out, because I don’t want to lose you, but we need to be honest with each other.”

Peter sent Neal a pained look, and the young man’s heart sank abruptly in his chest. Peter knew. For some reason, Peter _always_ knew. Neal had asked Mozzie to crack the anklet again. He wasn’t sure if he’d run, but he meant it when he said he would get his freedom no matter what. At least at the time. As he thought back about it, Neal realized with terror that it must have been right when Peter was turning down his promotion for him. No wonder it hurt, and probably more than a little.

He swallowed hard the lump in his throat. “You know.”

 

\-----------------------------------

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/CB2OA5r.png)

  
The conversation didn’t exactly go where Peter thought it would. It seemed that he had misread Neal’s intentions. Standing opposite to him, jaws clenched, hands shaking, Neal was visibly upset. Peter felt an urge of guilt shooting through his chest.

“You know,” Neal said. And that fact seemed to shake him. He slowly sat back on his chair.

Peter’s first instinct was to withhold, bluff. Let Neal talk, thinking he did know, and fill out the blanks. But somehow, that didn’t feel right. Not this time. Trust was a two way street, and if Peter wanted Neal to trust him and open up, he had to be honest too.

“Actually, all I know is that you and Mozzie were onto something,” he admitted. “Something worth not running for.”

Neal let go a sour chuckle and hid his face in his hands. His glass of wine was sitting, untouched and forgotten, next to him on the table.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. And Peter knew he really was. “I was angry about my release being rejected. I asked Mozzie to crack the anklet. I didn’t really mean it. I mean, at the time, I was determined to get my freedom no matter what. I thought I had earned it. But I – I don’t know. I wouldn’t have run. I think.”

Peter’s heart quickened in his chest. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to control the anger rising.

“Damn it, Neal,” he hissed through his clenched teeth.

“I’m not going to run. Peter,” Neal implored, “you have to believe me. I’ll talk to Mozzie. Ask him not to mess with the anklet. That was wrong. I’m sorry.”

All of a sudden, Neal stood up again and run to his walk-in closet. Peter heard him rummaging through some things. When he came back, he was holding that scary and full of teeth weapon from the T-Rex case. A piece of evidence that had mysteriously disappeared.

Peter’s heart missed a beat.

“Take it,” Neal said as he slid it on the table to Peter. “Take it, I don’t want it. I shouldn’t have taken it in the first place. I’ll reimburse the 2 millions too. I’m sorry, Peter. I don’t know why I keep doing those things, but I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I don’t want to be a criminal anymore I just don’t know how not to be one. . I don’t want _you_ to see me as a criminal. You had every reason to be mad at me, but that still hurts, when you call me a criminal. I want to change, but I don’t know how to do that. All I know is that I won’t be able to do it without you.”

Neal’s imploring look shot Peter right through the heart. He had dropped all his guards, and he appeared suddenly in all his vulnerability and insecurity.

Peter distinctly felt the blood drain from his face, and then, as Neal’s words sank in, he felt a fuzzy warmth grow in his chest, rising to his cheeks and ears. Something had changed all right. Neal had changed, probably more than he had realized himself.

He stood up and threw himself at Neal, taking him in his arms, almost lifting him from the ground.

“Peter?”

Peter stepped back to look at Neal while keeping a hold on his shoulder. He gave him a warm and comforting smile and he could feel he was dangerously close from getting wet eyes. When he spoke, his throat seemed suddenly tight.

“I’m not sure what to say. I’m sorry I doubted you, Neal. I’m glad you do want to go straight. And I do believe you and I believe you can. I’ll be there for you, always, as long as you need me. Hell, obviously you have actually changed already, and I didn’t see it...”

“You think I’ve changed?”

“Well, I remember a time where you were proud of being a criminal. And not so long ago you would never have confessed all those things to me.” Peter gestured toward the weapon on the table. “Really, though? That macuahu – that _thing_?”

Neal shrugged. He still looked a little uncertain.

“Never mind, it’s good you gave it back,” Peter said softly, giving Neal a light pat on the back. “And tell Mozzie he can keep the 2 millions as long as he can refrain to getting you in trouble till the end of your sentence.”

Neal shot him a surprised look and Peter smirked.

They sat back at the table and both took a sip of their drinks. A vaguely awkward silent settled. Neal was looking somewhat expectantly at Peter.

“Okay, then,” Peter finally said. “You and me. back on the same team. I like that.”

Neal smiled and his joy was so visible, so earnest, that it was almost painful. Peter wasn’t sure why Neal was clinging to him to strongly, but he promised himself to try harder not to disappoint him again.

“Good,” he said, smiling back, as he relaxed in his chair. He took a finale large gulp of his beer and set it back on the table. “I’m only asking you one thing. Whenever you find yourself into troubles, you come to me. And _before_ you do anything stupid.”

Neal nodded.

“And don’t think keeping things from me is protecting me,” Peter went on. “I can take care of myself. But if you want me by your side, I need to know what I’m getting into, you understand?”

“Yes, I do. I’m sorry for –“

Peter waved it off. “Whatever we did in the past, it’s in the past. We can’t change it. But we can move on and decide what we want for the future. And, I should probably not say that if I’m remaining your handler, but, unless I catch you sleeping with my wife, I’m not throwing you back in prison, Neal.”

Neal chuckled. “I’m pretty safe then. I won’t, I swear.”

“My point is, you can trust me. But you _have_ to trust me.”

A much more comfortable settled.

Neal pointed at Peter’s empty beer. “Another one?”

Peter looked at his watch and got up. “I’d better go, I have to take care of Satchmo. I told him I’d be home early for him tonight.”

That got Neal to laugh. He walked Peter to the door and as Peter was about to pass the threshold, Neal called him back.

“Peter?”

He turned around.

“What about you come by for dinner tomorrow night, then?”

Peter smiled. “I’d love that. See you tomorrow, Neal.”

 

 

  
**Second Tuesday**

  
**11:00 AM, Riverside**

Neal took a deep breath. “I don’t want to run, Moz’,” he said. “Please, don’t touch the anklet.”

Mozzie looked at him intensely, his eyes narrowed to slits as if he scanning through Neal’s skull. Not at ease, Neal tried to hold his gaze. Finally, Mozzie slowly leaned back, visibly disappointed, and Neal felt guilty. It seemed he could never find a way to honor a friend without betraying the other. Why did they have to be so complicated?

“I can’t do that to Peter. He just found me.”

“ _We_ found you,” Mozzie countered, pouting. “I worked just as hard as The Suit. I even worked _with_ The Suit.”

Neal felt a fuzzy glow grow inside his chest. He smiled at the idea of Peter and Mozzie working begrudgingly together for the common goal to find him.

“Thank you, Moz’,” he said foundly.

“I won’t say I approve your choice of friends, but there’s no denying The Suit seems pretty attached to you. He even gave me access to all your case reports.”

Neal could hardly believe what he was hearing, and he wasn’t sure what was the most impressive. That Mozzie accepted to work hand in hand with Peter, reading through endless case files, or that Peter let the little guy read all those files. Neal tried to remember if Peter knew about Mozzie’s eidetic memory.

“But I guess I see your point,” Mozzie said softly. “It might not be very fair to The Suit. Plus, I’m sure he suspects something,” he added quickly.

Neal shot him a reproachful look. “So it’s you! What did you say?”

“Nothing! But it’s like he has this radar sense. Like a bat or something. Except it even works through the phone. A sort of mystic lie detector. Or maybe it’s a microchip implanted in his brain…”

Neal looked at his friend with growing disbelief, and discreetly moved the bottle away from him. Though he couldn’t deny he felt the same about Peter’s ability to read right through him sometimes…

 

 

**10:00 PM, Riverside**

Slumped on that really comfortable couch, Peter felt he was losing battle against sleep. His eyelids were getting really heavy. Maybe he could close his eyes for a moment and simply listen to the film… He still had some sleep to catch on. Or maybe it was Neal’s wine, or the heavenly meal… He should probably get home, but his home seemed so far, and that couch was so comfortable…

His phone ringtone startled him out of his half-asleep state. Peter screwed his eyes to identify the caller and straightened up. As he moved he heard Neal moaned at his side. Looking over, Peter saw the young man was sound asleep. The phone call hadn’t even waken him up. He only slightly pushed over to keep his head rested on Peter’s shoulder. Not willing to wake him up, Peter didn’t dare move away.

“Hey hon!” he whispered as he tried to rub off the sleep from his eyes. He shot a look at Neal who was… sound asleep next to him,.

“Hi hon,” a cheerful El answered him. “Where are you, I tried to get you on Skype, but your laptop isn’t on.”

“Sorry, El. I’m at Neal’s. Did I forget to said we’d call?”

El’s light laugh over the phone sounded like a crystal water spring. “No, I was just checking on you. Why are you whispering?”

“Neal’s asleep.”

“Then why are you there?”

“He invited me over for dinner.”

“Oh look at you, dodging cooking duties. Have you two talked?”

“Yes, we did.”

“And?”

“And he invited me to dinner.”

“Oh, great. So I guess all is good.”

Neal stirred and sat up, shooting Peter an inquiring – and sleepy – look.

“All is good?” Peter asked me softly.

Neal nodded slowly.

“All is good,” Peter reported to El.

“Who is it?” Neal asked, holding back a yawn.

“El.”

“Hi, El,” Neal said out loud.

“Hi, Neal. Sorry I woke you up. I’ll let you boys get back to sleep. I’ll call you back tomorrow, hon.”

“Okay, bye hon, I love you.”

 

 

**Second Wednesday**

  
**Manhattan, 5:30 PM**

The Bureau routine felt comfortably familiar. If it wasn’t for his sore ribs, Neal could have believed nothing had happened, and that he hadn’t been missing for a week. The entire team had welcomed him back with cheerful smiles and warm pats in the back. It felt good, being back. It felt also a little intimidating realizing that he had become a true member of the team, one that everyone had fought hard to find back.

They all had a load of work to catch up on, after an active week of looking for Neal, and he barely had the chance to catch up with Peter, as the ASAC hadn’t had a chance to leave his office all day. Until he gestured to Neal from his desk to come join him in his office.

Neal knocked on Peter’s door and let himself in.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, sit down. How is your first day back going?”

“Fine. It actually feels nice to get back to work. Especially normal, boring cases.”

Peter chuckled.

“So, I’ve been thinking. I’m going to DC this weekend.”

Neal nodded and plastered his best poker face not to show his chagrin at the perspective to be left alone. He felt a little foolish thinking that way, but it seemed that he was in need for company.

“I cannot not go. I barely got the chance to drive El down there, and she needs my help to finish settling down. She wants to do some shopping for – stuff, you know, whatever. So, I’m going to D.C.”

“And…” Neal asked. “Do you need me to sit Satchmo?”

“No! No, no. Well, Satch is coming with us.”

“Us?”

“I mean, if you want. How would you feel coming down to D.C this weekend?”

Neal’s jaw dropped. _Washington_. Excitement spiked suddenly. “Could we go visit a museum?” he asked cheerfully.

Peter smirked. “I’m pretty sure we’ll get a tour of the National Gallery. Though I might have to keep you on a tight leash… Literally “

“We’re going to Washington!”

“And if you behave, there might even be other trips. Now go, I’m still half a week behind in my paperwork.”

‘You, Peter Burke, late in your paperwork?”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Now that’s low, Peter, really low.”

“The quicker I finish it, the quicker we’ll be back on the field. So go.”

 

 

The End.


End file.
